


Ghosts in the Machine

by anwt2094



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Non-Canon Relationship, Slow Burn, Spoilers, shower scene
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:14:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28476744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anwt2094/pseuds/anwt2094
Summary: What is the space between life and death, if not a journey from me to you?
Relationships: Goro Takemura & Male V, Goro Takemura/Male V, Goro Takemura/V
Comments: 11
Kudos: 80





	1. V

Nothingness. Complete abstract experience. In death, there is no context. Nothing left to hold onto or fight against. Nothing left to define. An empty mirror, infinite and ongoing. The only tangible thing left is the process.

Dying is not the cessation of life but its senses. Each one counting down to their inevitable failing. Starting with sight and ending with sound; they mark the steps all will walk. Without the cognitive tools necessary to gather information we are left with the culmination of ourselves. An unknowing magnum opus rushing on with a wail and a whimper.

Until there is nothing. Until the eventual heatdeath of the soul. Until all that is known is a complete abstract experience. A foreign painting to even its painter.

The end for most, yet not all. Often enough to be rumored, there are those that defy this. Through some force, sometimes their own but just as often not; Death walks backward. A tale now told in reverse. The soul gains momentum as it runs past the steps that brought it there. From the close to the open. Dark to light.

Rebirth. Sudden, explosive, and messy as the soul makes its return. To rise against the forces brought to them. To live, once again. Starting with sound and ending with sight, the masterpiece falls back into place. Complete experience in full context. Everything. Finite and focused.

However, like all things even second chances must come to an end, and Death ever patient, lingers still.

///

**V**

_Drip Drip Drop._

The sound echoed tumultuously in V’s ears. Each drop a distant reminder of…something. Something important, but he struggled to place it as a sudden wave of pain lanced through his body. His legs, arms, back, and everything in between roared in their discomfort. Iron and copper crept through his mouth. They pooled at the back of his throat poised to fling themselves into his lungs.

V twisted instinctively and gave a gurgled cry. Liquid flame sprinted up his spine and flared into fireworks in his skull. Blood and saliva spilled from his mouth as he took his first ragged breath. Shit. Putrid rot, filth, and rank assaulted his nose. His stomached heaved uncontrollably sending shockwaves through his system. Each wave an echo and a build from the last.

It was too much. All of it. Sensory overload took him, and he fell into it. Each sensation competing with the others. Each one demanding his attention. His action. The force of their will split him in pieces, and V struggled to hold himself together. To stand against the horrid smell and blood pooling in his maw. To push back against the pain that threatened to smother him into unconsciousness. Until finally, finally.

_Drip Drop Drip._

He opened his eyes, and a deep, guttural scream echoed forth. The sky bloomed before him. It’s mottled gray expanse doused him in a smattering of rain. Sometime later his scream died. V couldn’t tell if it was minutes or seconds. Thankfully, his sense of time still eluded him. His body instinctively sucked air in heaving breaths as his mind struggled to correct itself.

There was something heavy on top of him. He needed to get out. Slowing his breath, V twisted again moving from his backside to his front. Pain, but subdued. A hair under agony, but that didn’t matter. He would deal with it later. Vik would patch him up, and he would work again. He only had to get there first.

Mud soaked through his shirt as he dug his fingers in and pulled. Metal scraped on metal as his body slowly inched out from under the garbage. Empty coffee cups and other debris rained down on him. He was in a dump. They threw him in a _fucking_ dump. V filed that insult away in a mental note and continued to crawl forward. He’d found a general footpath and crested the edge of the trash valley.

_Drop Drip Drop_

Sudden movement ahead caught his attention. A silhouette, no two, walked out from behind the abandoned corpse of a car. A heaviness flooded through him as he recognized the larger of the two. Dex come to finish him off. ‘Best to make him work for it.’ V thought as he slumped to the ground. He couldn’t fight back. He had nothing to fight with. But he could make that fat fuck walk a little farther for his meal.

Heavy footfalls stopped next to him, and V felt strong hands roll him onto his back. There was a deep huffing sound as Dex grabbed under his arms and started dragging him back. Five, ten, twenty feet or so by V’s guesstimates. The large black man propped him against the car and stepped back as V opened his eyes.

Dex shuffled back to the other man struggling to catch his breath. “Urgh…Heavier than he looks.” He panted. A moment of silence passed between them. “Now listen, dawg. I have done exactly what you asked, so le’ss you an’ me figure this-“

**_Bang!_** _Drip Drop_

The gunshot rang out against the hills of garbage like music. Sure, V had wanted to kill Dex himself, but this was the next best thing. Front row seat. Only thing missing was popcorn. The man stepped towards him and V’s stomach sank as he recognized him. Saburo’s bodyguard. Takemura.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! There went the idea that this would be a friendly introduction. The man’s gun wasn’t pointed at him, but still held firmly in his hand. His eyes shifted to an orange glow, as he opened a line of communication with someone. V’s lingual gear struggled to keep up with the lightning-fast Japanese he was hearing.

V tried to shift slightly, to bring himself to a more comfortable position. “Argh…Fuck.” He whimpered as pain racked his body in return. In all the excitement V had forgotten he was one giant bruise. An open nerve exposed to the roughshod world.

“Quiet!” The man in the tailored suit barked. His hand slammed into V’s face bringing sweet nothing with it. V fell into unconsciousness gratefully. He was tired, and it had been an exceedingly long day. He came to again, albeit momentarily, as Takemura was loading him into a car. The man carried him princess style over the door and dumped him in the seat of the convertible. V closed his eyes as gravity threatened to overtake him. Funny though. Even over the stench of refuse around them, he caught a whiff of something else. Citrus maybe?

There was a slight shift in the car, as the man sat down, and the ignition turned over. V looked across at his would-be captor. Dark black hair silvering at the temples was drawn up high into a neat topbun. His wide jawline made pronounced by the myriad of chrome covering his neck. A jawline clean shaven until it met the fuzzy edges of his trim goatee. His high cheekbones were crossed with lines of silver that arced over his nose.

However, there was one thing that stood out more than the rest. It was his eyes. Two hollowed out silver moons pierced into him. They greedily carved out the space between them. ‘I am a predator. You are prey.’ His eyes declared. Primal strength radiated from their soft glow. A glow so soft as to almost be beauti-

“You smell like shit.” He growled as the car rolled forward and pulled out of the dump.

‘Asshole.’ V thought as he closed his eyes and fell back into his seat. He was too tired to care. He didn’t have the energy to fight this man or come up with a plan. His body was broken. Mind fractured. He needed a long shower and a much longer rest. When oblivion came, he did not fight it. He couldn’t.

///

The car swerved suddenly throwing Vs body into the side door, and his mind into waking action. It had stopped raining. They must have driven far. The car swerved again as V mentally struggled to catch up. His optics glitched in and out, portraying the world as a stuttering mess. The wind roared in his ears while something else tried to pierce through the noise.

“Do you hear me? I need your help!” Takemura said, pain clearly etched into his voice. He was wounded, leaning forward on the steering wheel. There was blood dripping from his side, and it colored his hand. Crimson rivers stained the airhypo he pulled from his pocket. Surprisingly, he pushed it into V’s hand. He didn’t need to be told twice.

God, this was gonna suck. With one quick motion V stabbed it into his chest pushing down on the plunger. Adrenaline jettisoned through him as the medicine took effect. Like whiskey, its warmth spread through his system. Dulled the pain, sharpened his eyes, and took some of the shake out of his hands. Some of it, anyway, but it wouldn’t last long. This was a temporary fix.

“What’s going on-“ V shouted over the wind but was cut off. A foot from his face, maybe two, sat a pair of glowing red eyes. These eyes were set into the grimaced face of a bald man on a bike. He saw hatred there. Hatred, malice, and the lithe grace of another predator. Slowly, V watched as the man pulled a gun and fired.

Bullet holes formed in the windshield corresponding with his shots. Takemura cursed and slammed their car into the biker. The bike spun, tipping in front of the car, and flew upwards over them. It took the windshield with it. V sat up in his seat, turning to look behind as Takemura reached over, and pulled him back down.

“Two more!” He barked with forced effort. Reaching over he pushed his gun into V’s hand and doubled over in the driver’s seat. Even with the wind, sweat peppered his brow. He was obviously in a large amount of pain. V hesitated a moment. Should he care about this man? About what happened to him? V still did not know if he was being rescued or kidnapped. The sudden bullet hole formed in the dash pulled him from his indecision.

Twisting in his seat V brought the gun level to his foe. This was familiar. He didn’t have to be a hundred percent for this. He fired three rounds in quick succession. They found their home in the back tire of the closest biker. It blew out, flinging rubber and shrapnel haphazardly.

The rider went down with his ship, and V felt a satisfying bump, as they fell under the front of the car. Swerving in and out of traffic, he saw the skyline of Night city in the distance. They just had to make it a little farther. He didn’t know if Takemura could make it a little farther. His face was beginning to pale, and he took forced, ragged breaths.

The final biker jumped from his ride to theirs. Mantis blades sprang into existence, carving into the metal as he landed. Takemura cursed and tried swinging the car left and right to knock their unwanted guest off. V unloaded his clip into this monstrous human being as his lingual gear caught something unexpected.

“Traitor!” the beast shouted in a thick Japanese accent. It flipped its body from the back of the car to the hood. V was out of bullets. He comically threw the gun at their assailant, only to see it knocked aside. A blade came within inches of his face as it stabbed into the back of their seats.

Takemura leaned back in his seat and shouted, “Burn in hell!” Their car, which had been moving at speed down the mountain stopped suddenly. V’s face met the dash of the car. Their assailants body met the front of their car. And finally, the front of the car met the large support of a billboard, stopping all of them. Violently.

///

Burning rubber was the first thing to come back. It was a heavy acrid smell that forced its existence on anyone in proximity. The small chirps and ticks of a roaring fire greeted him next. For a moment, they reminded him of home. What used to be home anyways. The Bakkers. Campfires under the sky, and the open road. His first real home.

V felt strong hands hook underneath his arms, and he leaned back into them. God, how many times was he going to black out today? Was this some new captor? Maybe he finally died, and it was Jackie pulling him on into the next life? The false hope brought an unseen smile to him as he opened his eyes.

His feet dragged on the ground, as he was brought to rest against a large rock. Takemura knelt next to him. Blood ran freely down his side now. For a moment V felt pity for him. A calm kind of sorrow at seeing this great predator brought low. He had the same feeling once as a kid. The time he came across the mounted head of lion. A relic from a bygone era. All its grace, and power, and beauty lost in death. No, not lost. Stolen.

That’s what looking at Takemura was like now. They were both clearly dead. Their ride had impaled itself against a very sturdy pole. No way that still ran. Somehow, their assailant was still alive. His body writhed and twisted, caught between the car and the billboard. It’s mantis blades, now broken and useless, clattered against the hood of the car. Finally, rising above all of them was Night City. Its great towers looking down in mock surprise. As if they didn’t know. As if they did not always know. The little guy never made it. How sad.

“…aaAARRGH!” V cried in pain as he brought the gun up and fired. His assailants head exploded in a cloud of blood and gore. At least he wouldn’t go out alone now. Takemura reached forward and snatched the gun from his hand. He tossed it away as he fell fully to his knees.

“We both need medical attention. Do you know a ripperdoc whom you can trust?” He asked forcefully, shocking V. Even on the brink of death. He was still fighting. Maybe that was part of being an apex beast. Never giving up. Maybe that was the defining difference between them. Prey know when they have lost. It’s built into their system. To know that one day, no matter what, they will lose, and someone else will win. Takemura the predator, and V his prey.

V’s optics glitched fitfully as darkness threatened to overtake him again. Takemura’s bloody knuckles rubbed into his sternum. “Do not. Pass out. Again.” He demanded. His will making manifest.

“I know a guy.” V croaked out, his eyes fluttering open. “Viktor Vector… behind Misty’s Esoterica…He could fix us.” The world was fading fast. His senses were a nauseating rollercoaster. On and off. All input as he struggled for output.

“We have to get there. Call someone. Anyone!” Takemura said quickly. An edge of something unfamiliar was bleeding into his voice. Fear maybe? V took a deep breath and forced what parts of his brain he could to focus. Jackie and T-bug were both gone. He needed to get _to_ Vik, not drag him all the way out here. Each name in his list of contacts brought another excuse for nothing. Except one. Delamain.

Two arduous rings later, and an exceptionally pleasant voice answered. “Greetings my scanner indi-“ The voice cut in and out as V felt his grasp slipping. The black was starting to pull in at the edges again. He wasn’t going to last much longer.

“…just come…pick me up…” V groaned into the connection. “Take me to…Misty’s Esoterica… front of Vik’s…” Tunnel vision filled his glitchy sight as he leaned back against the rock. Like an aperture his sight slowly squeezed inward. Until the only thing he saw was his captors face looking down upon him. The sun transposed his features against V’s corneas, a golden Madonna. Again though, it was his eyes that caught V’s attention. Those two silver discs boring into him. Equal parts caution and concern. Until they weren’t. Until Morpheus had come to take him, once again.


	2. Misty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Playing through the game I thought it was really weird that Misty and Viktor were so close in vicinity. A ripperdoc that's basically attached to the Esoterica? They clearly know each other well, but I feel like we didn't get to see why. This chapter expands on that relationship, and some other things about Misty I feel should have been included.

Innovation. Big tech. The next stepping-stone. More chrome, better weapons and all the eddies to pay for it. The next race. This was the world that Misty occupied but did not participate in. For even in this world of chrome and cables there were still people like her. Believers in something older, larger and more grand than them all. Universal.

Her shop, Misty’s Esoterica, reflected this. It did not reject the technological marvel they lived in but instead operated adjacent to it. An alternative one could say. Deep silks in a myriad of shades hung from its ceiling. Symbols and archaic runes long forgotten by most decorated the walls. Misty herself stood behind a small counter where she would often do her readings. Most importantly though, her door was open. It was always open. The shop needed to be able to breathe and a closed door would shut them both off from what the universe had to offer.

It was this offer from the universe that stood before her now. A young woman in her mid-twenties with ruddy brown hair. “I just don’t know...” she said worry knitting into her voice. “I want to trust him again, but after what happened last time I don’t think I can.” Her story was a dime a dozen. One Misty had unfortunately heard too many times. Cheating boyfriend makes his prodigal return. ‘I’ve changed.’ He says, ‘I love you, not her.’ It was always the same.

“Melanie, was it?” Misty asked softly. The woman nodded quickly laying her full attention on the mystic before her. “Would you like to know the truth?” The woman hesitated for a moment, before again nodding her consent. “Place your hands, palm up on the counter then.”

Cautiously the woman did as she was told. Slowly. Gently, Misty laid her own hands on top, connecting their palms. Like looking through colored film, bright shadows appeared before her. A dancing mist of pale shades rose off Melanie’s skin. Her aura made visible and vibrant to Misty alone. Her gift.

Misty had many tools in her trade, but this was by far the most effective. If she knew someone well or their emotions were elevated, she didn’t need the physical connection. The colors would just rise into place on their own. Melanie’s main aura was a kind of soft periwinkle color, and it felt like soft cotton against her mind.

“You are an inherently simple person, and I don’t mean that in a negative way.” Misty explained. “You enjoy the simple things. You are strong, and capable, and most importantly - reliable. You look for those same things in your partner.” Melanie’s aura shifted quickly as Misty knew it would. Focused now on the partner, dark purple sludge bubbled upwards from the bottom. His transgressions. It smelled sickly sweet like honey and lies.

“Your current partner is toxic.” she stated bluntly. Sometimes these things just needed to be said. “His actions have hurt you before, and his behavior has not changed. Regardless of what he says.”

“But how do you know?” Melanie returned. Confusion dappled her aura as pastel yellow stars burst into existence. Each one a memory of the good times before. Misty smiled at that. This was her favorite part. Every time.

“I don’t. You do.” Misty said, pulling her hands away. As quickly as it came the aura faded from view bringing the shop back into stark focus. “I can’t see anything that isn’t already in your aura. Trust your instincts. You have them for a reason.” 

Silence spread between the two as Misty’s words sank in. A bittersweet smile crossed Melanie’s face. “Thank you…” she quietly returned. Reaching into her brown leather purse, she pulled out a crumbled twenty and pushed it across the counter.

Misty met her hand in the middle. The sudden connection bringing the aura back. Baby blue and wet. Sad but certain. “There is a lovely café around the corner with a coffee ice cream that is to die for. I think your money might be better spent there.” She said quietly “Something sweet to help perk you back up.” Streaks of sunshine yellow greeted Misty in response as the woman took her money back. The colors faded with the now broken contact. The young woman turned away and left. Misty never accepted money for giving people answers they already had. 

Running hands through her choppy blonde bob, Misty heaved a great sigh and sat down. Connecting wasn’t hard anymore. Not like it used to be, but it still required a lot of her energy. Leaning back, she rested her hands in the pocket of her oversized hoodie. A moment of quiet. Maybe two. That’s what she needed. She found it hard to detach sometimes. To allow others problems to be theirs and not hers. The quiet helped. A cool breeze blew in from the door and wafted across her face. Night was falling. Maybe she would close early?

The sudden ring in her ear changed her mind. Her optic overlay, one of the few pieces of chrome she indulged, showed an incoming call. Delamain? What could the taxicab want?

“Misty’s Esoterica, how can I help you?” she asked in a cordial voice. Who knows? Perhaps it was a customer just calling through the A.I.

“Good Evening. I’m calling ahead as I have two men in dire need of medical services.” He explained politely. There was something in its artificial voice that rubbed Misty the wrong way.

“No.” She retorted quickly. “Reroute them to Watson General. We don’t do trauma here.” Misty was open to most things, but two men bleeding out in Vik’s shop was not one of them. “Vik is a ripperdoc. If they need medical take them to a hospital.” What kind of joke was this? 

“I’m afraid I cannot do that.” The delicate Delamain responded firmly. “My client, Mr. V, was very specific with his destination.” Misty’s stomach bottomed out at his words, only to sink lower still with his next. “He has fully lost consciousness, and I am unable to confirm a course correction.”

“Ok. Ok ok. How far out are you?” Misty asked as she jumped up from her chair. Rushing to the front of her shop, she slammed the door shut, and locked it behind her. Her heart raced as panic flooded her system. The shop groaned in disagreement, but Misty didn’t have time for that. They couldn’t be interrupted by anything. Not even the universe. 

“Five minutes my dear.”

“Ok! Pull around back; we’ll be ready for you!” she said quickly, cutting off the call. Sprinting through her shop, she blasted out the back door, and unlocked the gate into the ally. Good. The rhythmic sound of her club kid boots echoed back to her as she descended the stairs to Vik. She pushed the folding gate open, and rushed in. Vik was in his customary spot. Old boxing reruns playing on his t.v.

“Doctor! Trauma inbound! Scrub up!” She shouted as she crossed the room behind him. It had been a long time since they had done anything like this, but Misty remembered where the supplies were. Suture kits, surgery gear, and plastic tarping were pulled from the shelves. Her hands trembled violently as she worked.

“Misty, what the fuck?! We don’t do trauma!” He interjected. His aura was all reds, and orange, and yellows. Angry on top but mostly confusion underneath. He was right. They didn’t do trauma. It was messy, dangerous, and usually fatal. They weren’t properly equipped for this. Only the truly desperate turned to ripperdocs for triage. Even then it was still a gamble. “Reroute them-“ he started.

“It’s V and Jackie, Vik!” she retorted, turning her back on him. She couldn’t face him, but she didn’t need to. Sickly neon yellow reflected off the walls as her eyes began to sting. Fear. Tangible enough she tasted it in her throat like bile. Turning back to him with the last of the supplies, she said “Scrub up Doctor…They’re four minutes out.” A moment passed. Viktor’s aura had risen high off his form. Thickened yellow, like mustard, clung to him. Fear was a powerful emotion. Some say it was man’s first, and Misty could see why. It was so strong between them.

Sudden blooms of Navy blue formed over the surface of his aura. Not enough to quench the yellow but to cover it. Darkened green determination. A front. “Right.” Viktor said quietly. He rushed over to the sink and began scrubbing furiously at his hands. Misty hung the tarps quickly, trying to force the shake out of her hands. She wiped down the operating table with disinfectant. Crossing the room, she gave their internal A.C. unit a kick. She dropped it to the lowest setting. They needed to crash the temperature in the room if they wanted to avoid infection.

Three minutes later Misty and Viktor stood, gloves up and masks on. Clear plastic aprons covered their torsos as they waited. And waited. Each second felt like an eternity. Every moment spent wondering Where were they? Shouldn’t they be here by now? Panic pulsed in time with her heart as she waited. For her friend. For Jackie. Yellows and greens shone off Vik like a lightbulb. “It’ll be ok.” She whispered to Vik if not also to herself. “It has to be.”

A sudden screech from the ally greeted her ears. “Get ready.” Vik said, urgency coating his voice. She didn’t know what was going to walk through those doors but at the same time she did. It would be pain. Unbearable pain pushing out against the world. Against her mind, and she needed to be ready. Misty took a breath and pushed her awareness out. Towards the gate.

It started as a pinch. Then a poke. Hard. Painful and burning in her side. Misty took another breath as the sound of footsteps approached their door. It was time. “Damage to the upper right abdomen.” She said calmly. Forcefully. Vik moved instantly, heading to the table to prepare his instruments. Misty in turn walked closer to the folding gate. The pain in her side intensified as she felt the man stumble on the last step. It was angry, and violent. Meant to kill. It lashed out inside the man’s body “Gunshot wound.” She called back to Vik. “Bullet’s still inside. I’m almost certain of it.” The gate opened and Misty was shocked by what she saw.

V was there, but unconscious. ‘Of course he was. Delamain said he would be.’ She thought. It was the man who brough him in that surprised her. She had been ready for Jackie. Instead, a tall Asian man pulled her friend over the doorstep. “Please…help him.” He begged in clear pain. His aura was almost fully white with dustings of light running through it. Large pale red streaks emanated from his side as he dropped V and fell to his knees. It was his wound she was feeling, not V’s. The streaks in his side grew paler, moving from red to pink as a wave of crimson hit the floor.

“Massive blood loss!” she called back as she grabbed the man and forced him to his feet. “Come on big guy.” She said soothingly as she draped his arm over her shoulder. Shit! This guy was heavy. Each step was like dragging him through syrup. “Doctor, help me get him up.”

“Who the fuck is this?!” Vik asked as he grabbed the man by the legs and heaved him on to the table. “I thought we were treating V. Where’s Jackie?” Misty ran to the shelves, and located a bag of synthetic O neg. A little dusty, but still within parameters. Rushing back, she hung the bag and offered the line to Viktor. He deftly stuck the man’s vein, and the new blood began to flow.

Misty turned back to take a quick look at V. His aura was subdued. Part of being unconscious. His skin felt prickly against her mental touch. “I don’t know where Jackie is.” She said worry creeping into her voice. Jackie and his mano were thick as thieves, and it was unlike them not to be together. Especially if they just got off a job. “V is out, but stable. Feverish, I think. This man is the priority. He’s bleeding out and that bullet is still lodged inside.” She said turning back to their patient.

Blood coated the front of his black silk shirt. This guy had money. If the silk didn’t give it away, the shear amount of chrome did. “What’s V doing with some Corpo?” Vik asked as he cut through the man’s shirt and exposed his abdomen. Hard muscle and blood covered scars greeted them. This guy had clearly seen his fair share of action before. A thin trail of hair crawled upward from his beltline toward his chest. However, it was the small hole oozing blood in his upper right side that caught their attention. Vik quickly doused the area in alcohol, as he prepared to cut.

The man’s eyes fluttered open. He twisted his fingers into the plastic of Viktor’s apron and said “Not me…treat V…he cannot die…” His eyes shut again as he fell back onto the table. Sudden, sharp blobs of red began rising from his aura. Misty quickly removed a glove and placed her hand on his side. Pain rushed upwards through her. Physical contact now intensifying the connection. The bullet shone black against the new red. “The round is still inside Vik, and I think his liver just ruptured.”

Vik cursed as he spun around and reached for a cauterizing iron. His mechanical hand could do most of the cutting, but he would have to cauterize and stitch manually. “Go check on V, while I handle this!” he ordered. Misty turned away obediently. She could only tell the doctor what she saw and felt. It was still up to him to fix the damage.

She crossed the room quickly and rolled V flat on his back. In her surprise, she had focused entirely on the new element. Her friend had been dropped face first to the floor. For a moment she didn’t understand what she saw. His face looked back. Pale and feverish but very much V’s face. That wasn’t the confusing part. There was a black mar on his right temple. Reaching down she felt a thick, jam like substance coating the area. It wasn’t until she touched it that she knew. The wound screamed its horror into her.

Pain, sorrow, and fear called back to her. Fear told tales of failure. Topsy turvy. Everything went wrong. The job fell sideways. Misty felt them jump, sliding down the side of a building. Broken bones and twisted ligamenture cried out to her. They were running, and Jackie had to save it. He slotted something. Someone told them too. They had to keep it safe. Viable. 

Sorrow whispered words of brotherly love lost, and the poor choices that doomed them. Jackie was gone. _Her_ Jackie was gone! That’s why he wasn’t there. He was supposed to be, but he was not. Misty saw him in the car. Looking to his mano. For love. For comfort in his final moments. Passing the shard. Tears fell from her eyes as she saw V step out. Jackie was supposed to come here. To Misty and Vik. People who would care for his earthly remains. He never made it.

Pain was the last and spoke only the truth. Betrayal rang out against the walls of her mind, in time. In time with the gun Dexter Deshawn had leveled at V. In time with the shot. In time with his death. Misty felt all of it. The terror, loss, and rage at having everything ripped from him. Horrors of a lifetime disseminated in moments.

Her hand trembled as she instinctively pulled it back from V. “G-gunshot wound.” She called back. She rubbed at her eyes as the weight of V’s emotions sank into her. They settled in her stomach and clawed at the inner walls of her torso.

“GUNSHOT WOUND?!” Vik incredulously shouted back “I thought you said he was stable?!”

Jackie’s death, V’s emotions, the stranger’s wounds, and Vik’s own fear swirled within her like a cyclone. She had to be ok and she was not. She needed to save them, and she could not. There wasn’t enough air for all of them and she felt her strength begin to wane. “HE WAS STABLE!” she shouted back. She couldn’t be calm anymore. She had lost her ability to be objective. Her every synapse was a raw nerve against them all. It wasn’t until V’s eyes fluttered open that she was able to ground herself.

“V! V! If you can hear me, I need you to open your eyes again.” Misty demanded. She ripped off her other glove and pressed both hands against his temples. For a moment she felt nothing, and Misty was sure she must have imagined it. But no! There! Hidden under the surface. It was as if a wall had been pushed between them, and his colors were stuck on the other side.

“MISTY! Talk to me!” Vik shouted back. His mechanical hand moved deftly. He had already cut into the patient’s side and Misty heard the metal ping of the bullet dropped into a bowl. The smell of burning flesh greeted her nose as Vic started to cauterize. “What’s going on with V?”

“Gunshot wound to his right temple! He’s still-“

“SOMEONE SHOT HIM IN THE FUCKING HEAD?!?” Vik shouted back. Bright jagged streaks of white surprise echoed off the walls to Misty. 

“YES VIK! Someone shot him in the head, and I have no idea how he’s still alive!” She screeched back. Panic returned to her heart. Knowing V wasn’t fully lost brought back something she could lose. “He’s so close to death I can barely feel his aura. That’s why I didn’t see it before.”

“Give me ninety seconds to finish up here.” Vik said as he threw the cauterizing iron down and picked up the needle. “I just need to suture each layer of his musculature back together, and I’ll be there.”

There was no way he would be finished in that time. Misty made a call. “V doesn’t have time for that. I’m diving in.”

“Misty! No! The subconscious is dangerous! You have no idea what is going on in there. Just wait for me!” Vik was pleading now. Bright washes of lavender wiggled into her skin. He was concerned. Misty knew that, but there was something worse. Somehow, deep inside she knew it was worse. The gunshot wound wasn’t everything, and she needed to know. Everything. If they were going to save him, she had to.

Quickly, but gently she lifted V’s head and cradled it in her lap. She took one last look at Vik. Ripperdoc extraordinaire. His hands moved flawlessly even with his attention split. Her best friend. The man who took her in before Jackie, V, and even the shop. The closest thing she had ever known to a father in Night City. “I’m sorry…” she breathed out while turning her back to him. Daggers of charcoal guilt stabbed into her. Shakily she brought both her hands to rest on V’s temples. With a deep breath she slowly lowered her forehead down until it rested on his.

Everything in the room faded from her perception as she took the plunge. Vik’s concerned words were lost. Stolen away by the celestial winds of her mind. The smell of burnt flesh was gone. The only things to exist in this now darkened space, were Misty and V. She jumped from her mental space to his. A bridge formed of effort and will. Time took on a fluid aspect here. Bending and twisting as Misty’s aura bloomed bright into existence around her.

Her own aura normally went unseen. So rarely was she ever looking to herself. But here? In this place? She would need it now more than ever. Protectively, it rose outward from her. It’s chosen form appeared as a peony. All pinks and whites. Each petal; a memory. The good, the bad, and the oh so painful. Every defining experience made manifest. A protective guard against the force of V’s subconscious.

Her mind brushed the wall in V’s psyche. It trembled slightly at her touch. There was great turmoil on the other side. Here now it was clear. The wall was paper thin. A bubble waiting to burst. What lay on the other side; Misty didn’t know but there was only one way to find out. Slowly, with one finger, she reached out. Her aura clung to her skin forming a sharp point. She burst the bubble and hell came with it.

“AAAAAUUUUGGGGHHHHH!” she screamed as the bubble violently exploded. Wind, lightning, and force ripped into her psyche. She arched her back as the energy surged across her nerves. Everything was pain. Her aura stood as a weak defense to the psychic force brought against her. Slinking down, she twisted the petals over her. Thickening them against the onslaught. She opened her eyes as she felt another wave surge into her. It pushed her back, separating her from V. 

A large Chinese dragon circled high above. All seafoam greens and gold. Rage emanated outward from the great beast. It’s great fury vibrated deep into Misty’s bones. Her teeth chattered in her skull as she screamed back. She couldn’t hold it’s rage in her mind. It was foreign, unfamiliar, and stabbed into her aura like needles. Each one shredding a new hole in her petals. Her ears popped painfully as waves of pressure descended upon her. She tried to retreat deeper into her aura but already it was failing.

Below her a great Phoenix flew upwards talons extended. It was all blues and orange. The colors of fire and sky. V, but changed. Different from the friend she had come to know. She had never seen him this way. His aura had altered, taking on a new form after his death. He fought desperately against the intruder in his mind. Flames beat off his wings in waves. Each one scorched the petals of her peony. The flames wilted and burned her flower away. Until there was nothing left to burn. Misty lay exposed and vulnerable to the twin forces of his mind.

V, and someone else. That was the truth. There was something else, someone else in his head. Fighting for space. Each of them trying to be the dominant thought. Killing themselves and her in the process. It was then that she saw it. Pitch black against the greens and blues. A slotted shard stood in stark contrast. The one Jackie gave him. That was the source. That was the beginning and her end. It was all too much. She couldn’t hold all this together. Her connection was fading with each new needle, and each new burn. Until finally she was forced out.

Misty lay on the ground sobbing uncontrollably. Vik’s office slowly came into focus, as his concerned face looked down on her. She twisted her fingers into his scrubs and clung to him desperately. She had to. Every cell of her body cried out in protest. Her legs started to spasm as blood burst forth from her nostrils and ears.

Vik wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his lap. “What happened?! What did you see?!” he asked desperately. Misty vaguely saw bright streaks of purple concern cloud her vision. Her sight was failing as the toll began to take effect. Desperately, she fought to hold on. Vik had to know. He had to know if he was going to fix it.

“There’s ung-something in his head…” she whimpered as the seizure crawled up her legs and into her pelvis. She didn’t have long. “There’s. Someone. In his head.” Her torso began to convulse as her vision failed. “…look for…shard…” was all she could manage before the seizure stole her breath. Before she was lost to the darkness herself.


	3. Viktor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vik's perspective, and an Illuminating conversation. Enjoy :)

Viktor gently cradled Misty’s head in his lap as the seizure took over. It had been so long since he’d seen this. She went too deep and he knew it. He could only hope it was worth it. She had seemed so desperate to find something. He would look into it, but he had to care for Misty first. Moments passed like hours.

Eventually, her contorting form slowed to a stop. Vik checked her pulse. Elevated, but normal. God, these kids were going to be the death of him. Carefully, he reached under her knees and lifted her up. It had been a few years since his fighting days. A few more than he cared to admit most days, but he still lifted her body with ease. He quickly made his way to the small cot in the corner and placed her there. He stayed late some nights, so it was good to keep a bed nearby. He took a moment to make sure she was comfortable. She deserved it after today.

Turning quickly, he brought his attention back to V. Kneeling down, he took in the scene. His breath caught in his throat when he saw it. “Oh, what did they do to you kid?” he asked of the broken man before him. A large bloody mar covered his right temple. It moved freely as he gently touched it. Shattered skull fragments. Misty wasn’t wrong. She never was. Someone had fucking shot him. Moving down he pressed his fingers to V’s throat. A moment passed. Another.

There! A pulse! Slow. Way too slow, but still there. Vik reached down and lifted V into his arms. He was really feeling those missing years now. V was a head taller than Misty. He was no heavyweight mind you but sparring with Vik and Jackie had put some meat on his bones. He moved deftly and placed V in the other operating chair. He grabbed his rolling work tray from the other patients table and brought it next to V. He grabbed a bio-monitor and connected it to V’s finger. Seconds later, a red overlay appeared in his sight. V’s pulse, blood pressure, and oxygen levels. They joined those of his other patient. A way for Vik to keep an eye on two patients at once.

“OK. Next, next what next.” Vik said. Fear, like his voice echoed off the empty room. There was no one to help him with this. No Misty to help keep him calm. No Jackie to keep up the laughs. It was just him and the warmed-over corpse that was V.

“Now…for the fun part…” Vik groaned as he turned V’s head to the side. The gunshot wound looked like more of a graze than a full-on blow. Vik carefully rinsed the blood and gore from his temple with alcohol to get a better look. A quick spike in his vitals showed V was still kicking in there. “There you go buddy. See, you still got this. Plenty of fight left in you.” He whispered comfortingly to his friend. A small tunnel had formed just behind the eyebrow and trailed back toward the top of his ear. Pulling out a flashlight, he looked in and saw the amber glint of the bullet about two inches back. “Gotcha.” Looked like the bullet stopped at his neural port. Examining the side of the tunnel Vik saw mostly bone. Cracked and broken in places, but still there. It almost looked like the bullet had chewed through the side of his skull like a drill. Regardless, there was no exposed grey matter, so they were good there.

Reaching down, Vik placed his hand against V’s head, and quickly shaved the necessary area on his skull. V kept his light brown hair cropped close. Buzz cut, so it went quickly. He then dabbed the area with iodine. A bright shock of brown-yellow burst against V’s pale skin. It was time. Vik grabbed the stim-pen from the operating tray and stabbed it into his arm. Liquid cold raced up his arm and bloomed into place between his shoulder blades. Years of boxing had given him weak rotator cuffs and carpel tunnel in his wrists. It caused his hands to shake sometimes, as pain traveled downwards. He couldn’t be shaky now. He had already taken one hit for the first patient, and the second hit his stomach hard. Bile churned within him. A common side effect.

Vik took a deep breath and brought his mechanical hand up. The attachment reached forward and cut into the skin behind V’s ear. His vitals spiked again. Blood gently flowed forward as the bullet was exposed. Vik wiped it away with his free hand. Small metal claws reached forward and deftly pulled the bullet from its place. Looking down he examined the area. The bullet was stopped by the neural port. It had left a sizeable dent on the shard slot. It looked as if the metal had been pushed in. Nothing Vik could do about that. He doused the entire area in alcohol, and double checked the tunnel lining. Again, not great but it could have been significantly worse.

Vik turned to his shelves and dug through them. He knew he still had some. Somewhere. Moving to his desk Vik found what he was looking for. A half-used tube of Osteogrow looked up at him from the bottom drawer. Old, but still good. Vik returned to his patient and pushed out a healthy glob onto a tongue depressor. Slowly, he gently applied it to the fractured areas of his skull. This shit was mostly calcium in a tube and should speed up the healing process. That finished, he swiftly sutured the skin back together with his free hand.

“Bullet’s out, and heads sewn up.” He said as he took a step back and stretched his legs. Vik hadn’t realized how tense he was until then. His blue button up was plastered to his back in sweat, and he could kill for a cigarette. Vik flicked his eyes over to the other patient. He lay on his back, stomach and chest exposed. His vitals were still good, so he turned back to V.

“Alright V. Misty said something about a shard messing you up?” he asked the unconscious man. Sure, V couldn’t respond, but it helped to talk to him. Hard part was over, right? “She said there’s someone else banging around in there. Let’s take a look shall we.”

Vik brough his attention to the external area of V’s neural port. It glinted black and silver behind his ear. The auxiliary slot was empty. His main slot was occupied by a glowing purple shard. “You kids really put colored lights in everything now, don’t you? Cars, computers, and cranial shards. Why not?” Vik sarcastically stated. He was starting to feel better with the worst of it behind them. V was going to be ok. He just had to figure out this weird shard business. He pressed gently against the slotted shard. The normal click went unheard, and Vik tried again, to no avail. “Shit. Bullet must have shifted the metal against the shard.”

Vik thought for a moment on what to do next. No way that shard was coming out. Not without taking the whole neural port, and that was a process in and of itself. ‘A neural map might show what’s going on though.’ He thought to himself. Turning he stepped off into a side room. He had an old Biotechnica scanner from back in the day. It lay dust covered in the closet. Vik picked it up and brought it back to the makeshift operating room. He powered it on and slotted a cord into V’s auxiliary port. The scan would take some time. They could have had a nice, newer one that got results almost instantly, but this wasn’t a hospital. Just a ripperdoc and his makeshift friends. And some fucking corpo. Speaking of which, the man was still out, head laid back against the table. Vik left the scanner and moved to V’s side.

“Alright kid. Knowing you there’s probably a lot more than just the head wound. Let’s look under the hood.” Vik said as he brought his mechanical hand up. He cut through the bloodstained tee, and exposed V’s upper torso. As per usual the blood wasn’t V’s “Shit, you’ve really been at it haven’t you.” Lean, hard muscle greeted him. New, thickened flesh bulged outwards from his biceps. Deep veins ran down his forearms and disappeared at his wrists. His chest had grown outward, stretching farther from the middle. The hard lines of his abdominal muscles pulsed in and out with his shallow breaths. Two deep lines defined the contours of his hips and disappeared beneath his beltline. Vik knew he had been training, but all of this was new. A far cry from the half-starved Nomad Jackie dragged in six months ago.

“You’re looking good, kid!” He said enthusiastically. V and Jackie had been prepping a job for weeks now, and Vic hadn’t seen much of them. He could only wonder what Jackie must look like. They’d have to go a couple rounds when he got back from wherever he was. “You’re gonna have all the boys and girls turnin heads at you slick.” He said with a smile. This was what he needed, a happy ending from this God-awful day.

Some purplish bruising had started to form under V’s right pec. Vik placed his hand there and pushed gently. He felt a couple ribs sway inward at his touch, and V’s heartrate spiked in return. Broken ribs, at least three from what Vik could tell. He grabbed some binding wraps and began the process. There wasn’t much he could do but try and keep them in place to heal. An incessant beeping greeted him as he finished. Good timing. The neural scan was done. He put down what remained of the binding and pulled the cord from V’s auxiliary slot. Again, if they were a hospital, they would have had instant results, but no. They just had this piece of junk.

Vik sat at his desk and plugged the output cord into a monitor. He waited impatiently as the machine compiled and uploaded the results on the screen. “C’mon you piece of junk.” He threatened flatly while lighting up a cigarette. His patients had no open wounds, and he was far enough away to do so guilt free. The machine beeped as it finished the upload. Vik took a long drag as he turned his attention to it. The cigarette fell from his mouth.

Horror. Pure and unfiltered, flooded through him. Horror at looking Death in the eye and knowing there was nothing he could do about it. V’s brain was on fire. It was literally cooking in his head. Vik looked on, horrified at the damage the shard had already caused. It was uploading something into his head. It was slow, but he could already see the new neural pathways forming. They looked like roots growing outward from the neural port. It was a cancer. It would grow and grow until it had fully taken over. Until there was nothing of V left.

“The process has begun then?” A foreign voice quietly growled in his ear.

“FUCKING CHRIST!” Vik shouted as he spun around, fist instinctively flying. The tall Asian man fluidly sidestepped and allowed Vik to go crashing down behind him. Vik quickly brought himself up and raised his fists.

“I mean no harm.” The man stated in a clipped accent. Japanese if Vik had to guess. He raised his open hands in a showing of peace. “My name is Goro Takemura. Do I have you to thank for this?” he asked while pointing to the stitches in his side.

“How are you even standing?” Vik asked in disbelief. “I pulled a bullet out of you not ten minutes ago!”

“This is not the first time I have been shot.” Takemura stated simply. “Regardless, I will be fine. Thank you for your care.” The man then made a shallow bow and turned back to look at the screen.

Too many things had gone wrong that day for Vik. He had just pulled a bullet from his friend’s skull. Prior too that he held his better-than-he-deserved nurse through a seizure. And prior to _that_ he had just removed a different bullet, cauterized a liver, and sewn multiple layers of musculature together expertly. Vik had no patience for this.

“WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED!?” he shouted at Takemura “Who shot V!? Why isn’t he dead!? Where’s Jackie!?” Vik’s rage bubbled upward as he reached a fever pitch. Takemura had turned, taking all of this in stoically. “Who the fuck are you!? What is this thing in V’s head!? Why does it look like it’s killing him!? Why did Misty say there was someone in there!?” He finished. Silence filled the space between them. “Well?” he asked incredulously.

“This is…complicated…” Takemura said quietly. He slowly moved closer to Vik and brought his attention back to the monitor. “Your friend, this thief,” he said gesturing at V “did something incredibly stupid. Honestly, the idiocy of it all baffles the mind. And had he not, I could very well be dead at this moment.” A hint of something unreadable crossed his face as he continued.

“V and his companion stole an important piece of tech from Arasaka tower. From right under Yorinobu’s nose even. Most likely, there plan would have worked had it not been for Yorinobu. They hid in the room, as he murdered my master. His father, the emperor, Soburo Arasaka. Do you understand so far?” Takemura asked.

“Holy shit…” Vik whispered. What were they thinking? Jackie and V had done some stupid things, but this was major leagues stupid. Instinctively he sat down on a stool as the color drained from his face. With shaky hands he pulled a cigarette and lit up. “…Go on. What happened next.” He said between drags.

“With the death of Soburo, Yorinobu pulled the alarm. The building was put into lockdown. Their netrunner was discovered and quickly burned out-“

“T-bugs dead?” Vik interrupted. He had never known her well or even met face to face, but he knew of her. Jackie and V had shared that much.

“Yes. She was able to open one of the penthouse windows however, and V attempted to escape with the tech. One of the air patrols spotted them and opened fire. V, and his companion-“

“Jackie.” Vik informed.

“…V and this Jackie jumped. They slid down the side of the building and crashed into a maintenance area. It was at this point that the relic was damaged. We found the remains of its case here. You see, the relic must be contained within specific parameters. The case was damaged and that was clearly not possible. To maintain its viability one of them had to slot it. My guess would be V, as he is here now.”

“So, this shard they stole is the relic?” Vik asked, pointing to V’s neural port.

“Yes. It contains an engram. One which is now violently taking root within his brain.” Takemura stated. Looking back at the screen, Vik could tell. This wasn’t bullshit. It was the real deal holy field, and Takemura was just confirming it.

“Who’s the engram?” Vik asked. It had to be someone big if they stole it from the top floor of Arasaka tower.

“Johnny Silverhand.”

The sound echoed around the room, as if it didn’t know where to land. Vik gave Takemura a hard look. Malice spilled into his voice as a new rage was set to boil. “You tellin’ me he’s got a terrorist banging around in there? Settin’ up Shop!?”

“Yes.”

Vik stood violently. His hands lashed out. He looked for the familiar comforts he had known. He could not take the garbage he was hearing. His hands connected with the operating tray and flung the tools across the room. Spinning, he turned back on Takemura. “And you fucks just had this lying around?! And for what?! Why would you need the engram of a terrorist?”

“That is unimporta-“ Takemura started.

“BULLSHIT!” Vik shouted closing the distance between them. “It’s important because that relic is burning a hole through my patient’s skull! Why. Did. You. Have. It?” he asked forcefully. His hands had balled into fists, and he breathed hard into Takemura’s face. To his credit the man didn’t flinch or bat an eye or do anything that indicated Vik even registered to him. 

“Johnny Silverhand detonated a nuclear bomb in Arasaka tower. They had every right to take his engram.” Takemura explained coolly. A look of something unreadable crossed his face as he turned away. When he looked back there was steel in his eyes. “They needed to know if there were more plans. Co-conspirators. Hideouts. All of it. They have kept it to this day as many of those co-conspirators still walk the streets of Night City. Is that reason enough?” He asked prodingly.

Guy certainly had balls; Vik would give him that. He huffed once more before turning his back to light another cigarette. He took a deep drag, and looked over at V. There he was, all of twenty-eight and spread out on an operating table. A flame in the wind. Here and gone, and back again. Vik wasn’t going to get anywhere being pissed off. He had to hear this guy out. If only to help V.

“Fine. What else have you got?” Vik asked as he returned to his seat.

Plowing forward as if nothing happened Takemura continued. “There was a firefight. Jackie was wounded as they made their escape. The blood we recovered at the tower proved as much. A Delamain cab was waiting for them, and they were gone. It took them to the No-Tell Motel. At some point during the ride, Jackie expired.”

Vik’s stomach fell into his feet as again the words failed to find a place to land. Vik knew what they meant. He could define all of them. But to hear them this way. To hear them referring to his friend, his choombah, like…like a bad burrito. He expired?!? “Where is he?” Vik asked. Violence poised in his voice at the ready.

“I imagine V told Delamain to take him here. Arasaka was already tracking them at this point. They intercepted the cab and collected the remains.” Takemura said bluntly.

“Give him back.” Vik whispered as he rose to his feet and took a step forward. There was only so much he could take. All of it was bullshit but this took the cake. Mama Welles would want to see him. A funeral needed a body.

“I cannot.”

“Why not?” Vik seethed. He took another step forward. Murder cried out at the sound. It echoed off the walls, egging Vik on. It demanded justice but would settle for vengeance. He had killed for less before. Jackie did not deserve dissection by corpo rats.

“I am no longer welcome at Arasaka tower. Yorinobu has claimed these two murdered Soburo by poison. And that I helped them do it. For now, I am,” he paused at that, searching his mind for something. “I am in the same boat I believe. It is within my best interest to keep V alive. To expose my master’s killer and clear my name.”

For the first time since Takemura had awoken, Vik saw something genuine cross his face. Guilt. Regret at not being able to save the man he cared about. A mutual feeling between the two. His rage dissipated, or at least simmered down. Stepping forward, he reached into his shirt pocket and offered an olive branch. “You wanna’ light.” He asked genuinely as he held the cigarettes out to Takemura.

“No, thank you.” Takemura said as the barest hint of a smile crossed his face.

Vik shrugged his shoulders and lit another with the dying embers of the previous. “What happened next?” he asked blowing smoke in the opposite direction of Takemura’s face.

Takemura leaned against Vik’s desk as he continued. “V went to meet the fixer who planned all of this. A man named Dexter DeShawn. They met at the no-tell motel, and it was there that he betrayed V. The bullet you pulled from his skull came from Dexter.”

“Fucking fat bastard!” Vik cursed as he took another drag.

“Indeed. He then deposited V’s corpse into the sanitary landfill. With V dead, Dexter DeShawn attempted to make his escape. Arasaka, of course had tracked him up to this point. I accosted him and forced him to take me back to V. It was here that we found V alive. I believe the relic had revived him and begun the process of reshaping his neural space for Johnny Silverhand. Having located V, I then shot Dexter DeShawn in the head.” He stated matter of factly.

“Good man.” Vic returned. That was at least one less thing they would have to reckon with later. Hopefully, it would keep V from diving off the unnecessary revenge cliff.

The smile returned as Takemura dipped his head in agreement. “Yes, I thought as much. With V in tow, I made to return to the city. I informed Yorinobu of his capture, and my location. Not long after that we were met with a hit squad on the road. Arasaka. That was how I gained my bullet wound.” He said as he lightly dragged his fingers down his side. “We defeated them, but at a cost. I connected the dots and have now assumed I have been burned. Without V or I there is no one to stand against Yorinobu. So now his fight is my fight.” Takemura finished, pointing at V.

Vik whistled at that. What a shit show. A complete mess, and here V was stuck in the middle of it. “What’s the plan now then?”

“Keep V alive. I will need him to testify against Yorinobu. He will need me to help him get rid of the engram. For now, just keep him going. I will turn to ground and look for the next path.” Quickly, he stood up and walked towards the folding gate.

“Hey! You can’t leave yet!” Vik shouted back as he moved to stop him. “You’re post-surgery! The pain alone will keep you from getting too far!”

“I will be fine.” Takemura said simply. Seeing the look on Vik’s face he pointed at one of the pumps on his neck. “Selective endorphin reuptake distributer. It kicked in once I woke up. I feel little pain.”

“Well…fine! You can go but hold on.” Vik shouted back as he ran to the side room. He returned and offered Takemura a button up shirt. “Man shouldn’t ever leave without a shirt.” He said gruffly.

Takemura quickly put it on and gave a small bow.

As he turned to go, Vik called out. He had returned to V’s side to check on his patient. “Thank you, Goro Takemura. For bringing what you could to me. For bringing my boy back.”


	4. Goro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goro finds a place underground, and "cleans house." ;)

Night City rose above him. The glowing towers stood as a testament to mans will. The clawing fingers of the city reached high, as if to pull the heavens to them. A footbridge. Pathways from mortality to the divine. At the center of them all stood the shining jewel. Arasaka tower. How many times had he looked down from its storied heights? His own divinity achieved. Yet here he was. Mortal once again.

Goro Takemura stood on a busy street corner as sheets of rain poured down around him. In a way he was grateful for the rain. It had been days since he walked out of the ripperdoc. His side had been healing nicely. Still no signs of infection. He could thank Arasaka for his quickened healing rate. However, in those few days he had yet to find a place to stay. A drainage tunnel was his home last night. He was rudely awoken, soaking wet as rainwater began to fill the space. It had forced him back on the streets. Just after three am. Hours crawled by as he walked the city. The shirt Viktor had given him was plastered to his skin, but again he was grateful for it.

It had been days since he last showered. The river surrounding the city was so polluted he dare not try bathing there. A bathhouse was not an option. They were significantly less prevalent here than Tokyo. Regardless, Arasaka had frozen his assets. He had no money, no cars, and most obviously nowhere to go. Thankfully though, there was one thing they could not take away from him. His training. Arasaka had poured millions into making him the man he was. A living weapon. A tanto for Soburo’ s hand.

It was this training that he leaned on now. That kept him moving forward. Now decided, he made his way down the busy street. His first priority was shelter. He had yet to achieve this, and clearly it was vital. With no capitol at hand, he would have to find an alternate path. The City had made it clear. It would not provide. Thankfully Arasaka still could.

After the bombing of Arasaka tower in 2023 certain contingencies had been set in place. It was one of these contingencies that Goro was heading towards. Jogging forward he ducked into a subway tunnel. He descended the steps two at a time. Dim fluorescent lights filled the space at the bottom. Their harsh light shined hard against his skin. The station itself was packed. Clearly, he was not the only one looking for shelter here. The temperature drop of moving underground sent a shiver up his soaked spine.

Stepping to the side, he turned and faced the wall. Goro was far from shy but the less of his chrome people saw the better. Anything could be used to identify him, and Arasaka had to be on high alert looking for him. He deftly unbuttoned his shirt. A sudden breeze sent goosebumps across his muscled frame. The soaked shirt clung to his skin hungrily as he removed it. Water droplets descended the hard contours of his abs. They dripped down into his already soaked dress pants. The small hairs of his chest elevated as his body struggled to retain its heat. He twisted the shirt in his hands trying to wring as much of the rain out as he could. He was still cold after he put it on but felt better than before.

Cacophonous sound tore through the subway platform. The underground train had made its return. Goro watched as the herds of roving people exited and entered in turn. Moments later the train left with an equally loud screech. This was his chance. Goro pushed through the crowd and hopped down onto the tracks. He was surprised to see numerous people jump down with him. All of them dressed in rags. The leftover debris of society. The ones forgotten or more accurately, overlooked. They moved as a unit and headed down the left side of the tunnel.

Two hundred meters down the length of the tube they found their destination. An opening formed on their right side. An abandoned maintenance tunnel. There were many tunnels such as this that crisscrossed the underbelly of the city. It should have come as no surprise that the homeless had taken over. A small ecosystem greeted him as he entered the space. Orange auxiliary lights dimly lit the way. There were quiet greetings for the group he walked with. They split off, one by one, as they walked the length of the tunnel. Each person moved to their own makeshift shelter. Goro passed ripped tents, castles made of cardboard, and stained mattresses. All of them occupied.

The homeless population of Night City eyed him suspiciously. His designer pants and shoes shined like a light bulb without the anonymity of the herd. He was the outsider here. Their malnourished eyes looked upon him greedily. Desperately. One such pair of eyes made the choice. What Goro believed was a middle-aged woman stepped quickly from the shadows of a pathway. The glint of silver sparked in the darkened space. Tangled, matted blonde hair burst forth under a neon orange hood. “Who ar’ you?” she growled. Her voice sounded like gravel falling down a lead pipe.

Goro didn’t have time for this, however she did have something he needed. “I am no one.” He growled back, his voice a foil to her own. His was soft sand to her gravel. Her knife darted forward as he knew it would. His body moved with the years of dedication he had put into it. His hands twisted her wrist and arm behind her back. He plucked the knife from her hand and gave a swift kick to her behind. Not enough to harm her. Just enough to push her off balance. With a crash and a cry, she tumbled down. Goro spun on his heel and sprinted down the tunnel.

“Hey! Give that back…” She called into the darkness after him. His steps echoed in the space as he moved through it. Each one took him deeper into the maze of tunnel. Farther away from the homeless shantytown, but closer to his destination. He had only been there once, but that was all he needed. Another hundred meters or so and Goro had found it. A door stood in stark contrast to the tunnel around him. Japanese writing called out to him. His native tongue. Goro savored the words in his mind as he read them. A quiet comfort. “Arasaka properties. Employee admittance only.”

After the Night City Holocaust, Arasaka found it prudent to build nuclear shelters across the city. They were meant as a fall back point for upper management. After fifty years or so many of them lay abandoned. This was one such place. Goro located it five years ago on a trip with Soburo. Originally, he had prepared it for the two of them. A place to recover and regroup in case of an attack. Heavy emotion fell into place as he thought of his former master. The man who made him. The man who built him into the masterwork he was. His sculptor. Gone.

However, it was not these emotions which gave him pause. Which made him double check the knife he held in his hand. It was the dark red paint. Long dried and messy. Multiple eyes looked back at him from the graffiti. Malice made manifest. It appeared the shelter had taken on new tenants. Maelstrom. Honorless squatters. More monster than man most days. The lock on the door was broken, and it stood slightly ajar.

Goro steadied himself. This was going to be difficult. Even for him. He was still wounded. They vastly outnumbered him. All he had was a knife. A knife and the will to take back what was his. From Maelstrom, Arasaka, and anyone else who stood in his way.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door, and slipped inside. Darkness held him in its grip. Quietly, he removed his leather shoes and socks. Cold cement kissed his toes. He silently stalked forward as his optics shifted into the infrared spectrum. Maelstrom rarely needed light. It was part of their process. A rejection of the organic world they tried so desperately to leave behind. They often replaced their eyes entirely. A convoluted mess of optics instead. Their signature look.

He heard movement ahead. Two Maelstrom, a man and a woman. This was the point. There were more thugs deeper in the complex, but they were the beginning. It was here that he would take the jump. Leaping from man to the monster _he_ was made to be. He tightened his grip on the knife and braced himself for the flow. One. Two.

Goro exploded into movement. The bionic tendons in his legs stretched in satisfaction at the sudden movement. His feet silently stole the space between himself and the nearest thug. His blade dug deep into the lower back. Blood poured outward over his hand. Their kidney ruptured as he pulled up. The blade jarringly cut through flesh as a scream met his ears. Goro’s knife silenced the scream as it pierced the man’s throat next. Gurgled surprise greeted his companion as the man slumped to the floor.

Goro darted in as the woman reached for her gun. He caught her wrist with his off hand. The gun stayed pointed at the ground as she struggled to lift it. Goro flipped the knife in his hand. A second lost. “BOSS! INTRU-“ was all she managed before his knife met her throat. He pulled out and stabbed again. A backhanded jerking motion down her torso. Each stab hitting another vital organ. Heart, lungs, liver, and stomach. Thorough, and precise. Death came quickly to her. Goro had ensured that.

The rest of the complex fell into a steady rhythm. He moved systematically from room to room. Step, step, stab, pivot, run, and stab again. Each victim stood as a new partner. A new dance, and each one ended the same. Rivers of blood flowed at his behest. The ground lay slick with crimson, and Goro gratefully slid through it. Comfort found in the familiar movements of the past. For a moment he could even lie to himself. A lie that his master wasn’t dead. That he was doing this for him. A blood sacrifice for the man who had given him so much.

It did not take long. It never did. Goro was well trained unlike most of these thugs. Within twenty minutes the complex lay quiet. Only the echoed cries of the dead, trapped in silence, greeted him. He was covered in blood. The walls and floor matched equal shades. “What a mess.” He growled to himself as he took it all in. Sudden waves of exhaustion coursed over him. He had been awake for far too long, but there was still work to be done. He still had unwanted guests on his doorstep.

Reaching down he grabbed the nearest body and hefted it over his shoulder. He tucked the knife into his beltline and made his way to the entrance of the complex. He grabbed the leg of a second body and drug it behind him as he walked. Five minutes later, he had made it back to the initial tunnel. Panicked whispers spread quickly. Fear. A powerful tool in Goro’s arsenal. He dropped one of the bodies on a sleeping man in his mattress. The man let loose a terrified scream at the corpse he had awoken to. Goro kept walking.

He made his way down the tunnel. The orange hood of his prey stood out violently against the dark. Her eyes filled with terror as she took in the body still hung over Goro’s shoulder. Body frozen, she simply stood stock still as he pulled the knife.

“Thank you for the knife.” He said as he offered it back to her hilt first. Even in banishment, he still held his honor close. He was no thief. A moment passed. Two. Until with shaky hands the woman reached out and took it from him. Swallowing hard she looked back up at him. The knife held fearfully in her hand. “A gift for your hospitality.” He said as he dropped the body on her tent. It caved the structure in, and the woman gave a shrill cry in return.

Goro turned and walked away. Back where he had come. He heard panicked footsteps from behind. Fading away. Back into the subway tunnel. They ran as he returned to his lair. Goro spent the next hour removing the bodies and placing them in the tunnel that led to his abode. He found fewer and fewer of the homeless with each trip. Until there was no one. Until all that remained were the terrified faces of the dead. Victims of the silver eyed demon.

///

The complex itself was far more spacious than he needed. He sealed off most of the rooms. The blood and trash would act as a deterrent to anyone curious enough to come looking. He burrowed deep into its bones. The CEO’s quarters. They were the farthest from the entrance to the complex. However, they too had been despoiled. No matter how tired he was, he would not live in filth. So, he soldiered on.

Pushing through the trash and refuse that littered the floor, Goro made his way to the attached bathroom. Graffiti flared into his sight as he opened the door. Broken glass littered the floor. The mirror had been shattered. “What are you looking at?” someone had written on the wall in red paint. Goro ignored all of this and made his way to the sink. Crouching down, he opened the small cabinet. He was shocked by what he saw. The cleaning supplies he was looking for were there. Dust covered yes, but very much there. Completely untouched. An unknowing time-capsule of what this room used to be.

“Animals…” he cursed in his native language. He grabbed the supplies he needed and turned to work. Goro’s body fell into a steady rhythm once again. It allowed his mind to rest. This rhythm, similar and dissimilar to his previous one. It was a comfort. Scrub, scrub, step. Clean, trash, sanitize, disinfect, trash, scrub. He worked this way for hours. Each action stood as a balm to his soul. A small step forward. Toward his goal. Toward the day he would take back what was his.

Hours later, Goro took in the work he had done. The quarters stood in stark contrast to the rest of the complex. A shining light in the darkness. Honor in honorless squalor. His body trembled as a dizzy spell racked his form. Even with the upgrades Goro was beginning to find the edge of his stamina. He shook his arms out and forced equilibrium back. Almost done. There was just one thing left to do. Goro needed to clean himself.

Opening a side panel led to much disappointment. Most of the clothes he had saved for himself here were destroyed. Ripped, tattered, and even pissed on. However, underneath it all he found one good shirt. A collared white silk button up. The pants were all ruined and the shoes long gone. He would have to reuse his own. But that was no matter. Tucked away in the closet he also found the necessary laundry detergents. He would wash his clothes along with himself. Reaching up, he grabbed a few hangers as well. Taking all this in hand Goro moved to the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

The bathroom itself contained a large open shower, a toilet, and a sink. Not nearly as extravagant as most CEO’s would be used too. Spatial requirements forced its size. It would serve adequately for Goro’s needs though. He set the laundry detergent on the floor by the shower and turned the water on. Steam quickly filled the space. He hung the silk shirt to breathe. It would help get some of the wrinkles out. This was the best solution without an iron. Goro then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tin. His prized possession. A lemon mint soap. He took it with him always and he was grateful to have it now.

Goro opened the tin and set the bar of soap on the sink. He looked into the space where the mirror used to be. It would have been nice to see his reflection. His face was surely blood covered and it would have been easier to rinse with a mirror. No matter. The shower would do fine. He reached up and undid his topknot. Exhaustion fell in waves as his hair caressed his shoulders. ‘Almost done’ he thought to himself again.

Goro made his way for the shower. His tired fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Slowly, they came undone. He let the shirt slide from his broad shoulders and land next to the shower. Blood covered blue looked up to him. Goro returned its gaze and took in his naked torso. Blood had soaked through the shirt. It stained his almond skin the color of wine. Flakes fell like dried paint as he ran calloused hands over his flesh. The bulge of his chest flexed inward at his firm touch. His nipples arced outward against the open air. The fine feathers of muscle rippled like an ocean across his stomach. The only problem with feeling so little pain was that he often struggled to feel his own injuries. His hands examined the flesh greedily. Familiar touch. Small cuts here and there. The separated flesh clung to his fingers. They demanded his notice if not at least his attention. Nothing too serious. Superficial.

His belt came next. The golden buckle was heavy in his hand as he pulled. The satisfying whisper of removed leather sang songs of reprieve to him. It told him of the hot water, and warm bed that would be his. It clanged loudly against the tiled floor. Goro fumbled on the outer button of his pants. He gave his hands a weary shake and tried again. He laughed to himself for a moment. A throaty kind of chuckle. He had just routed a Maelstrom nest with only a knife. And here was struggling to take his pants off. Eventually the button came undone, and he pulled inward. The inner clasp separated. The simple zipper came undone easily. Forced open without the added strength of the inner clasp. The pants opened and Goro’s lower body took a satisfying gasp of fresh air.

The pants came off, and the socks, and finally his undergarment. Disappointment ran through him as he examined the last. A large hole had formed in the backside. It must have happened during the fight earlier. He easily passed his whole hand through the hole. They were useless to him now, and he would have to go without. He tossed them in the small trashcan and returned to his ritual. His lower half had been fully soaked through as well. Dried blood was caked into the hair of his legs. Bending down, he started at his feet. Tendons and small veins gave their hello at his touch. They wiggled under his fingers, and waved goodbye as he traveled upward. There was some slight swelling in his right ankle. Nothing major. Must have just twisted it.

His hands trailed upward as he took in the shape of his calves. His slender ankles reached upward and curved into the rounded flesh. Long streaks of power danced under his skin as he flexed. His knees were a bit wobbly. This was most likely due to the sleep deprivation. They would right themselves overnight. The hair of his legs thinned as he continued upward. He took each of his thighs in turn. Their mass was too great to fit in both his hands. More blood flaked off as he ran his hands across them. No open wounds here. Slight pain echoed from his left hamstring. Most likely a bruise. He couldn’t quite tell with all the blood he was covered in. Everything just appeared as different shades of deep red and purple.

The curvature of his rear greeted his hands next. The thickest part of his body. Like a globe cut in half, each cheek sat on its respective hip. The muscled glutes flexed easily under his probing hands. A little sore, but again something to be expected. His hands gave a firm squeeze. A final check as they continued their search. They moved forward and crossed to his hips. Strength radiated here. The deep contours came next. Their lines ran from his upper hips downward. They crossed the barrier of where his pants normally rested. His fingers crested these lines as they made their descent. A shiver ran across his skin at this. A slight tickle. His hands gently caressed his lowest abdominal. Coarse hairs met his digits as they danced across his pubic bone. All the while searching.

Finding nothing out of the ordinary they descended still. Sudden, earthly awareness filled his senses as his fingers brushed against his flaccid member. The soft skin glided along his shaft at his touch. He moved from base to tip. Gentle fingers transitioned to a firm hand. With his uncut girth held in his left, Goro plunged on with his right. Steam had heated the room well by now. Goro explored his scrotum thoroughly. His fingers examined each fold of the skin there. Carefully, he rolled a testicle between his fingers. And then the other. The fine threads of his inner workings stood out prominently against his touch. Finally reaching downward, Goro examined the space where his thighs met his groin. The skin remained solid and unbroken. Satisfied, Goro released himself and stepped into the shower.

Hot water ran down his form in rivers. They followed the natural lines of his body as rushing rapids. Waterfalls danced and peppered his skin. Pure ecstasy. If felt like an age since his last shower, and Goro basked in it gleefully. His body trembled and shook in its joy. Reaching out, he braced himself against the wall. Liquid flame rushed down the thickened meat of his shoulders. The water flooded his every pore. Lustfully, it explored his every crack and crevice. It dropped in great plummets of satisfaction from his girth. Murky pink rose water looked up to him from the floor. The blood of his enemies. 

Goro grabbed the soap from its tin and lathered it in his hands. Thick suds formed between his digits. Lemon and mint rose on the steam. They filled his senses. His sole creature comfort. The last thing he had of his former life. This one, simple thing was all he needed. It was enough to sustain him. The smell alone brought relief. He turned his back on the shower and rubbed the soap into his chest. His hands slid easily over the now lubricated muscle. He delicately rubbed around the area of his stitches. He did not want to break them early. Bright streaks of white dripped down his front as he lathered. Gravity carried them farther down still. 

His hands moved with them. He pressed the soap into his chest, pits, and arms. He avoided the exposed chrome of his neck. The advanced alloy wouldn’t rust, but it was still better to keep the soap away. His hands descended to his abs. The soap bumped perilously against their waves. Each one threatened to knock it from his grasp. A frothing sea of suds covered his torso. Satisfied, he continued lower. The soap sailed passed his stomach and into his groin. He pushed it into every fold. Every crevice and crack was filled with the frothy white suds. He brought it behind. The soap spread easily over the crests of his bottom. Each pass cutting through the grime of the day. Cutting through his worried troubles. The soap moved inward. It entered the space between his globes. He pressed it firmly here. He scrubbed away at the area and felt the soap press upwards against him. Against his opening.

He thought for a moment. Under other circumstances he would have taken some time for himself. A physical release against his troubles, but no. The steam of the shower had sapped his strength. He was so very tired. Goro pulled back the soap and stepped fully under the water. It greedily consumed the suds. They fell fitfully from his body in large claps against the floor. Until there was nothing left. Until Goro stood simply; Naked and clean. “Almost done…” he told himself once again. For what felt like the thousandth time.

Goro reached down and grabbed the filthy clothes. He stepped back and allowed the water to consume them. To pull away the red blood. Like ink it flowed gently in the water. Making its way downward. Toward the drain. He waited until they mostly ran clear. Then detergents and a scrub brush. Goro spent another hour in the shower. He slowly scrubbed the clothes clean. Bloodstains never truly come out but that’s why he always wore black pants. They faded very well on the material. Vik’s shirt was a different matter altogether. No matter how hard he tried the red never fully pulled away from the blue. Goro eventually gave up. He would have to replace it somehow.

Goro quickly hung up the wet clothes to dry and returned to the shower. His hair was always the last. Normally he had a matching shampoo to go with the soap. In a pinch though the bar would have to do. Goro gently ran the soap through his hair and built up a lather. He then rinsed his head and turned off the water. His body cried out for sleep. He had put it off for too long, and even the act of toweling off was a chore. Stepping out of the bathroom, he went over his mental checklist. Shelter secured. Clothing secured. He still needed to get some food, but that could wait. He would check on V tomorrow and hopefully find something then.

Goro threw the wet towel into the corner of the room. He was too tired to hang it up. Moving quickly, he checked the door. Still locked. He then jammed a chair under the handle. Just to be safe. Finally, he approached the bed. Silk sheets greeted his skin as he slipped under them. They sang sweet songs of pleasant dreams, and better days. Days when this was a given. The days of his divinity.


End file.
